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Sometimes, boys are very, very dumb.
When three different teammates ask Sasha about Nicke’s birthday party, he doesn’t think it’s weird—he just assumes that he’s been volunteered to plan it that year and shrugs. As soon as he has a free minute, he goes to his phone to look up venues he thinks Nicke will like. It doesn't take him very long to pick one out, or to order a cake and make sure there will be enough of Nicke's favourite beer. Sasha's his best friend, after all, he's supposed to know these things.
He doesn’t find it strange that it's his job, and he doesn't even find it strange that it happens again the next year, and again the year after that. He just assumes it’s because Nicke’s his best friend or because he's the captain. And really? It isn’t like he doesn’t love doing it, Nicke deserves the best birthday ever and there’s no better way to make sure it gets done right than to do it himself.
So Sasha plans Nicke’s birthday, and Nicke plans his—even if he doesn’t know it. Nicke always was better at keeping secrets.
Nicke is out shopping on Valentine’s Day completely by accident. He doesn’t even realise that it is Valentine’s Day until he’s standing at the end of an aisle full of pink, purple, and red that makes his teeth ache because it smells so much like sugar. He almost keeps walking, but then a teddy bear that catches his eye and turns down the aisle to take a look.
The bear is soft, and he’s huge, and he’s holding the biggest, gaudiest stuffed heart Nicke has ever seen. It’s the most Sasha teddy bear he can imagine and he loves it. He puts it in his cart and looks at it every time he puts something new in beside it.
In the end, he also gets flowers, and a bottle of Sasha’s favourite liquor for good measure. He tells himself it’s a consolation gift—that he’s only doing it because Sasha’s as single as he is and it’ll make him smile.
When he gets to Sasha’s house and see’s that Sasha got him a gift too, he tells himself that’s all it is.
It becomes a sort of tradition and Nicke expects it to end whenever Sasha finally gets a girlfriend.
Sasha stays single and Nicke looks forward to Valentine’s Day every year.
When Sasha gets his wedding invitation for Zhenya’s wedding, there’s no option for a plus one on the RSVP. He doesn’t think much of it, just sends back that he wouldn’t miss it and lets it go.
There’s no option for a plus one on Braden’s invitation, or Carly’s, or TJ’s, or any of the other’s he receives, but he doesn’t really think it’s that strange and he never has anyone to put down as his plus one anyway, so he never asks.
He never realises that Nicke’s invitations are the same. Never realises invitations have a ‘+1’ option on them at all until the first time he’s invited to a wedding for a friend back home and see’s the little addition at the bottom.
It’s not like he has anyone to take to that one either, so he sees it, reads it, and puts down that it’s just him.
Nicke sits next to him at every wedding and every birthday party and he never even thinks about how the table is full of pairs.
When they all get drunk at Sid and Evgeni’s wedding and Sid refuses to let them leave, Nicke grumbles. It’s not like he can’t take a car back to his hotel, he argues, but Sid is having none of it and shows him to one of the guest rooms. Nicke doesn’t realise that Sasha’s even following them until they’re standing in the doorway and Sid’s telling them they can sleep there.
Nicke’s drunk, so even though he knows there have to be enough guest rooms for them to be able to sleep in separate rooms, he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t see the look on Evgeni’s face or the way Sasha shrugs and ducks away from him before he can ask whatever question is resting in his mouth.
Nicke strips put of his suit on his way to the bed and drops the pieces in a semi-organised pile on the floor before he flops down.
Sasha’s there a minute later, radiating heat that feels like the sun on Nicke’s chilled skin. He thinks it’s the alcohol that has him rolling over and tucking himself into Sasha’s chest. He knows it’s the alcohol that make him think Sasha sighs and curls around him. He’s asleep before he can think too much about it and Sasha’s long gone when he wakes up.
Sasha doesn’t know if he can pinpoint exactly when he started getting messages for Nicke, but he thinks it happened one person at a time.
Now he gets them all the time. They come in person, from teammates, coaches, friends, and trainers who bump his shoulder or call his name and start their sentences with “Hey, will you let Nicky know…?”
He gets calls and texts that are like that too, when Nicke isn’t answering his phone fast enough (common) or has forgotten where it is altogether (constant).
It’s easy to pass the message when Nicke’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, because Sasha listens to the messages and then pushes on Nicke’s thigh and recites the information to him. It’s harder when Nicke isn’t around, but Sasha doesn’t mind. He uses it as an excuse to see him, in case anyone actually believes he needs an excuse.
So, he doesn’t know when it happened, but he doesn’t really mind it either.
Nicke hears it once a year, at least.
“Do you ever think about getting married?”
Sometimes it’s his mother, sometimes his friends, and occasionally his teammates—though that one’s much more rare.
He always answers the same way, a simple shrug and a hard no. He knows better than to say anything else, because he knows that if he opens his mouth he’ll tell them that he does. And if he tells them that, he might tell him about the wedding he thinks of when he has a migraine and needs something happy to soothe him. He might tell them about the flowers, and the music, and the way that Sasha would look in his tux. And if he tells them that? Well, there are some things you just can’t take back.
Sasha’s his best friend and that’s all he’ll ever be. Nicke would never do anything to risk that, no matter how much he wants to. So when they ask, he doesn't tell them anything. It's safer that way.
Sasha doesn’t have the self-control to pretend he isn’t excited when someone says he and Nicke should just live together. He hears the justification—something about them always being together anyway and Nicke tempering Sasha’s extravagance (or something)—but he isn’t listening.
He turns his excitement on Nicke, sitting across from him at the dinner table and looking a little bit like he’s trying to keep his face from doing something embarrassing.
“He’s right, Nicky. Think you not kill me?” Nicke raises an eyebrow and half-shrugs.
“Sure,” he says, like he isn’t making Sasha’s whole life, “Let’s do it. I won’t kill you.”
Best. Idea. Ever. Sasha finds them houses to look at before they're finished with dinner and then pauses to watch Nicke devour something chocolatey and sweet before he looks any more.
Nicke’s parents invite Sasha to every holiday, and he always goes. Tatyana invites Nicke to his first big Russian dinner while they’re playing for Dynamo and he goes. The invitations don’t stop coming after that and Nicke doesn’t mind.
They never really talk about it, but they spend the same holidays in the same places every year and they never actually have to talk about it. It just happens.
Nicke’s not sure who would be more upset about it if it changed. Him, or his Maman? He thinks it might be a tie.
Sasha’s really, really drunk, when Semin asks him about Nicke. It’s in English, which makes Sasha feel like his ears are playing tricks on him. Sanya doesn’t speak English. Sanya actively tries to convince people he doesn’t know how to speak English. So Sasha puts down his drink and blinks stupidly at him until he rolls his eyes and says it again.
He’s asking about Nicke. About their relationship. Sasha still doesn’t understand. He thinks hard about the words and then nods and leans close, lowering his voice in case any of their friends have suddenly decided to know English (Sanya did, so it seems plausible).
Sasha tells him the truth. He tells him he’s afraid that if he takes their relationship to the next level, he’ll screw it up and lose Nicke forever.
He says forever as dramatically as he can and Sanya doesn’t even seem surprised.
Neither of them say what they mean by ‘the next level’, so they never realise they’re having two different conversations. Sasha's too drunk to notice.
Nicke’s in the middle of helping Holtby give dad advice to the rookies over lunch when his phone starts ringing and plays a trashy pop song he can’t name but knows he’s heard Sasha sing a hundred times. He glances at the screen, sees Sasha’s name, and rolls his eyes—hard.
“What do you want, Sasha?” he says when he answers. The boys laughs and drop their voices so they can continue talking without being so loud he can’t hear.
“I put you as emergency contact?” Sasha asks, breathing like he’s been running. Nicke doesn’t ask about it, just shrugs. He realises belatedly that Sasha can’t see him and laughs at himself.
“Of course you can, you’re mine,” Braden hesitates too long between words and Nicke knows without looking at him that it’s because he’s listening.
“Okay, thanks Nicky! Bye!” Sasha hangs up before Nicke can say anything else and he just rolls his eyes at his phone as he puts it back down on the table. When he turns his attention back to the conversation, he realises that it’s completely stopped and there are three pair of eyes locked right on his face.
“So, what did Dad want?”
“He wanted to make sure that I didn’t care if he put me down as his emergency contact. I don’t,” Nicke shrugs and half listens to Holts telling the rookies how Brandi is his and how they never talk about it because she’s so afraid of getting that call.
Nicke knows it’s usually something reserved for the wives or girlfriends, but he likes that Sasha thought of him.
“Wait, why did he have to ask? I’d think you’d be more offended if it wasn’t you,” the waitress comes back with their food before Nicke can ask what he’s talking about and then he’s so hungry he forgets all about it in favour of devouring his pasta.
It’s not a big deal, Sasha tells himself when Kris introduces them as his brothers. It really isn’t, except that it feels like it is.
Sasha decides not to pretend he doesn’t love it and the next time someone asks who he is, he tells them exactly that.
“I’m Kris’ brother,” he says. The women—whose name he has already forgotten—looks from him to Nicke and back before she smiles and jumps into a story Sasha’s not sure he understands. He nods along, because she seems really excited, but when she walks away to refill her drink, Sasha has no idea what she spent fifteen minutes telling him.
Nicke’s birthday is Sasha’s favourite day of the year, which is possibly the most Sasha thing Nicke can think of. He always does something for him, a party, a dinner, something.
Nicke would be okay with having dinner on their couch and watching movies, because his birthday is just another day and also he really doesn’t need a party. But Sasha would die if he ever pushed the issue, so he doesn’t. Instead, he gets up on his birthday and turns himself over to Sasha without complaint for whatever overly-extravagant thing Sasha has planned.
The best part about his birthday, to him, is when it’s over and he can open all the cards from the friends and family that can’t be there to celebrate with him.
Nicke’s not sure when Tatyana Ovechkina’s card started being his favourite to get or how she got so good at making sure it showed up the day before his birthday every year, but he always saves it for last and makes Sasha read it to him twice.
Sasha has to help him call her so he can say thank you, but he always does.
She always tells him the same thing, and he always blushes from his nose to his navel.
“Of course, lyublyu. Family.”
Nicke’s pretty sure it’s one of the only sentences she can say in English, and he’s pretty sure she learned it just for him, but that makes it all the sweeter.
Sasha loves his Mama. He really, really does. But when she asks them about grandchildren, he wants to climb under the table and hide.
“Mama,” he whines, pleading with his eyes for het to let it go. He doesn’t need to be reminded again that he’s single and sad, thank you very much. Sasha almost feels bad for a second, when she turns her fierce attention on Nicke and says clearly, "babies?"
Then Nicke blushes and Sasha doesn’t feel bad anymore.
Nicke always sits next to Sasha. It doesn’t matter where they’re going or what they’re doing, it’s always that way. He sits next to Sasha when they’re on the plane, he sits next to Sasha while they play cards. He sits next to Sasha when they’re in the car, because he and Sasha are always either the driver and passenger, or sitting together in the back seat. At dinner, they’re side-by-side or face-to-face, and everywhere else is more of the same.
Nicke doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t ever complain.
He thinks it’s a cruel joke when—while a little tipsy and a little sloppy—they pile into a hayride that’s much too small for all of them to fit and Holts raises an eyebrow at him. The wives and girlfriends are sitting on the players’ laps to make sure there’s room for everyone to fit, but he isn’t anyone’s partner, so he’s sitting next to Sasha.
“C’mon Nicky, up, Carly needs room to sit,” Holts says, motioning around Brandi at Sasha. Nicke’s tipsy brain doesn’t really get it until Sasha loops an arm around his waist and hauls him into his lap.
It feels good, the way Sasha’s pressed all up against his back, but his face is burning bright and it has nothing to do with the alcohol in his blood.
Sasha’s Instagram picture is of him and Nicke, and he loves it. It’s also the home screen on his phone, though he’d never admit to that out loud. He likes going home in the summer, because his Russian phone has Nicke on the lock screen AND the home screen, and double Nicke is always better.
When Nicke’s not there to see him stare at it, he gives himself a few extra seconds, because Nicke’s too pretty not to look at.
Nicke’s not sure where Kuzy came from or how someone so small is physically capable of taking up so much space, but suddenly the girl that was trying to climb into his lap is a lot farther away and Nicke feels like he can breathe. She’s pretty, in the abstract way most girls are. But she didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t Nicke’s type, and Nicke didn’t know how to tell her without just pointing at Sasha and drooling on himself.
He buys Kuzy a drink, and then another, and never quite finds the words to say thank you, because he’s not sure how you thank someone for chasing off someone that’s coming on to you without it sounding like you don’t want to get laid.
Besides, Nicke’s far too loose and relaxed to think someone as bright as Evgeny Kuznetsov wouldn’t be able to read him like a book if he opened his mouth.
So, true to form, Nicke decides not to say anything and he gets Evgeny very, very drunk.
Sasha’s one hundred percent not watching whatever movie they came to see. He was watching, when it started, but he got distracted around the time Kuzy and his wife started making out.
Not because he was watching them, because that would be weird. No, Sasha’s not watching the movie because he’s watching Nicke pretend to watch the movie. He spends the entire movie wondering if the he’d be able to feel the callouses on Nicke’s palms if he held his hand and if his lips would taste like the chocolate they’re never telling the nutritionists they ate.
When the movie is over and Zhenya asks if he liked it, he lies through his teeth and says he loved it. He hopes no one asks him anything else.
When Nicke finally manages to chase Mike out the front door, he drops onto his back on the couch and stares up at the ceiling.
“Why do these idiots come to me for advice? I’ve been single for a million years. I’m not any good at any of this,” the empty house doesn’t answer him and Nicke thinks that’s appropriate, like the universe is telling him it doesn’t know either.
Sasha knows what Nicke will eat at every restaurant they go to in D.C. and every restaurant they visit on the road. It’s not like it’s hard, because Nicke’s the pickiest eater of anyone he’s ever met and there’s approximately one thing on every menu he will put in his mouth.
So, when Nicke isn’t at the table and the waitress gets to them, Sasha doesn’t miss a beat. He orders for himself first and then for Nicke.
He absolutely refuses to acknowledge the, ‘awe, Dad is ordering for Papa. Why don’t you ever order for me?’ that comes from the general direction of where the children are sitting. Nicke comes back after the waitress is gone and he doesn’t realise they’ve ordered at all until his food is put down in front of him.
Sasha loves the way his blush spreads to the tips of his ears.
Nicke wants steak and pasta. He’s starving and he wants both and he doesn’t want to be told no. He’s telling Sasha this when the waitress comes up and starts to take their orders.
When she gets to Sasha, Nicke is still trying to decide which thing he’s going to get. He listens to Sasha’s order and about halfway through he realises Sasha isn’t ordering what he said he was going to. He looks at Nicke and smiles.
“Now you get pasta and we share,” Nicke smiles with his whole face and tells the waitress what he wants.
“Hey, get your own,” Sasha snaps, slapping Tom’s hand and pulling his plate away to protect his fries. Tom makes a wounded face and tells Sasha he’s the worst Dad ever, but Sasha ignores him.
When Nicke comes back from the bathroom, he drops down in the chair beside Sasha and makes an excited sound in the back of his throat as he grabs a small handful of fries and puts the whole thing in his mouth.
“Their French fries are the best,” he says with an indulgent sigh. Sasha smiles and gestures to his plate so he knows he can have as many as he wants. Across the table, Tom looks like he’s going to start a fight. Sasha shrugs and picks up a fry of his own.
“Is Nicky,” he says simply. Tom glares until they pay the check.
Nicke knows that Sasha’s tired. Sasha’s tired and grumpy and he wants to go home and Nicke can see the tension in his shoulders even with his pads on.
“Papa, I’ll pay the fine if you kiss the frown off Dad’s face so he doesn’t scare the rookies,” Nicke immediately freezes. Tom’s got his arm thrown heavily over Nicke’s shoulders and he’s smiling the charming smile Nicke knows he uses to get what he wants, but as much as he searches, Nicke can’t find the cruelty he expects to see in his eyes.
“Why would I do that?” Nicke asks, half legitimate curiosity and half bitter anger. He’s immediately thankful for the post-game flush on his skin because it means the blush he feels spreading doesn’t show. From his stall—with his jersey halfway over his head and stuck in his pads—Andre laughs.
“Because if he kills the rookies you’ll have to do a big press conference and explain why,” Andre turns to Holtby, who uses his free hand to tug his jersey free so he can toss it into the hamper and smooth down his hair. At Nicke’s side, with his arm still coiled tightly around Nicke’s shoulders, Tom takes on what Nicke thinks is an imitation of his own voice.
“Yes, today in the locker room when I refused to kiss my husband and make him smile, he killed all of the rookies for being useless and annoying. I am not sorry,” Nicke feels like he’s going to be sick. It’s not like he hasn’t heard similar thing before, about he and Sasha being married, it’s that there’s something different about this time. There’s something different about the way Tom’s calling Sasha his husband.
“Husband?” Nicke squeaks, his voice too high from the sudden lack of oxygen in his lungs. Sasha is still sitting in his stall, staring directly at the yellow laces in his skates and pretending none of them exist. Tom drops his arm and makes a face.
“Yeah? Husband,” he looks at Nicke like Nicke is trying to tell a joke and it’s the least funny thing he’s ever heard.
“We’re not, he’s not, what?” Nicke can’t tell if it’s his English failing him or his brain and he feels like every second that passes ages him five more years. “Why would Sasha want me to kiss him?”
The entire locker room is quiet. Nicke realises too late that he’s asked the question wrong, but Sasha’s already heard it and there’s nothing he can do to take it back.
“Because? He love you?” Kuzy’s down to his base layers and looking at Nicke like he’s lost his entire mind. Nicke really wishes Sasha would say something. Literally anything, in any language.
“What the fuck are all of you talking about right now?” Nicke bites out, his own anger flaring. Bless Holtby for being sane enough or observant enough to realise that something is very, very wrong, because he stops messing with his pads and drags Nicke out of the room before he starts crying. They end up in some random room that’s an indeterminate distance from the locker room and very, very dark. Braden turns on a light and sits Nicke in a chair.
“Okay,” he says softly, sitting down on the floor. “Take me through what just happened?”
“I really have no idea,” Nicke says softly, feeling the exhaustion of the game in his bones.
“So, you and Alex?” Nicke feels like crying again but he doesn’t. Braden isn’t unkind, and Nicke can hear that it’s intentional, he genuinely wants to know. Nicke shakes his head.
“We’re best friends,” he says softly, trying and failing not to sound as bitter as he feels. Braden makes the goalie face that Nicke associates with seeing things he never will and rocks back to lean on his hands.
“I’m going to tell you something and you’re going to want to tell me that I’m crazy, but hear me out, okay?” Nicke nods and leans back, resting his hands loosely in his lap.
“The entire team thinks you two have been dating or married for the last decade, and I include myself in that too,” Nicke’s whole body goes cold.
“But why would you think that?”
“Because he loves you and you love him,” Braden says simply, shifting his legs to make himself more comfortable in his bulky pads. Nicke starts to open his mouth to argue but Braden cuts him off with a look and keeps talking. “Brandi is my emergency contact and Alex is yours. Brandi plans my birthday parties and is my plus one to everything and orders my dinner for me if I’m not at the table and fixes my clothes when I look like a mess and buys me things I absolutely should not eat on Valentine’s Day. And who does all of those things for you?”
Nicke swallows.
“Sasha,” he says softly, staring intently at his fingers where they’re tangled in his lap.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, because it’s not my place, but you should probably talk to him,” Nicke doesn’t say anything until his sweat has dried on his skin and he legs have gone stiff. He tells Braden he doesn’t have to stay and then listens to him hesitate a moment longer before letting himself out and turning the light off.
Nicky sits in the dark for a long time before anyone comes looking for him and when they do, it’s a soft tap at the door that he almost misses. When he doesn’t say anything, the door creaks open and Sasha pokes his head in.
“Nicky? I come in?” Nicky nods, trusting that the light from the door illuminates his face enough that Sasha will see it. Sasha comes in and sits down in the chair beside Nicky, pressed close because his thighs and Nicke’s pads make it impossible for there to be any distance between them at all. By the time Nicky finds his words, his eyes have readjusted to the dark.
“I would have done it, you know,” he says softly, still staring at his fingers.
“Done what?” Sasha asks, turning his whole self so he can look at Nicke, still dressed from head to toe in his equipment. Nicky sighs and shrugs and blushes all at once.
“Kissed you, to keep you from looking so angry,” he pauses, “even if Tom wasn’t paying the fine and there were no rookies being killed. I would have kissed you to make you smile, if I thought I could,” Nicke holds his breathe and closes his eyes against the burning of tears gathering. For a minute, there is complete silence and he thinks Sasha’s going to get up and leave.
“Nicky,” Sasha breathes finally, one big hand coming up to catch Nicke’s chin. Nicke sucks in a breath and lets his head be turned. Sasha’s eyes are big and bright, even in the dark, and they’re locked on Nicke’s face with such intensity that Nicky feels like all the air has been stolen right out of his lungs.
“You kiss me always. Any time. No matter what,” Nicke holds his whole body very still and waits for the punchline that never comes. When it starts to feel real, when he starts to believe that Sasha’s serious, Nicke leans into Sasha’s hand and closes his eyes.
“I want to,” he says, like the confession it is. He hears Sasha’s sharp intake of breath and keeps his eyes closed as he feels Sasha move closer.
“So do it,” Sasha whispers against his lips, maintaining a whisper of distance between their mouths. Nicke feels the corner of his mouth lift into an involuntary smile and draws a slow breath. When he leans in and closes the last of the distance, Sasha opens up under him.
They only pull apart when they need to breathe and Sasha leans heavily against Nicke’s side, leaving them nose to nose.
“Get dressed. I want to go home,” Nicke smiles and drags himself out of his chair. He offers Sasha his hand and leads him down the hall to the dressing room.
The next wedding invitation that Sasha touches is his own and there is no plus one option for him because he'll be the one waiting at the altar.